


The Dancer

by ddallontine



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dancing, M/M, Neighbors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29555745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddallontine/pseuds/ddallontine
Summary: He was freer than anyone I'd ever known; he was free because he danced.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Kudos: 3





	The Dancer

There was a boy who lived across the street from me, in the gray-blue house that had a large crack down the side. The side of the house was nearly covered with vines, and it made me wish to know what the inside of the house was like. I imagined it as almost mythical. I imagined that it smelled like dust and the pages of old books, like rain and earth. More often than not, I found myself imagining the boy. 

I didn't know the name of the boy who lived there except that his last name was Way. I knew he was strange and rarely ever left the house. His parents left the house almost the same time every day, early in the morning as they rushed to work. I knew that when his parents left for work, he stayed up in his cramped room alone, but he was freer than anyone I'd ever known; he was free because he danced.

It was as if it was the only thing that was keeping his soul inside his body. I had never seen the dancer go to school, but I occasionally saw him writing furiously or reading, so I assumed he was homeschooled. He may have already been out of school, like I would be at the end of the school year. He could have been old enough, I could see it. He may have looked more mature if not for the long teen-boyish black hair he had. That was one of my favorite things about him, though, because he was strange.

The boy almost always left his curtain drawn to the side, hooked around something on top of his tall brown bookshelf. I supposed he preferred the light from the outside to the too-bright bulbs in the house. I understood that; I had always liked it better that way as well, which is how I had originally discovered that the boy liked to dance. I had left my curtain drawn up one night and my window was open. I could hear soft music playing and I turned off my light so that nobody would notice me, crawling through the open windowsill and sitting down. 

I had noticed that the light in the boy's room on the other side of the street turned from dark green to a softer blue, which faded into a magenta shade. The dancer had a light that changed colors and I watched the pretty lights for a while. I saw movement and realized the figure was moving from off of the bed onto the floor, where he stood for a moment before moving again. This time he didn't walk, he swayed into a turn and bent down to touch the floor. It took me a moment to realize what he was doing.

He was dancing. And as soon as I started to watch, I couldn't stop. There was an elegance in every careful move he made, his form drifting across the floor in a templated ballet-like motion. From that night on, I made it an interest of mine to watch this beautiful dance every time I noticed that it was taking place. 

One of those nights was this one. April 3rd, a cold spring night. I was doing what I usually did, scrolling through mindless forms of media and watching the world go by. I had my window open because my room was too warm for my liking. I got hot much too easily (it had always driven me mad how sensitive to temperatures that I was) and the breeze of my favorite season took the edge off of the feeling. I noticed a change in the lighting- red to green- out of the corner of my eye and I sat up, looking across to the blue-gray house.

The color-changing light in the dancer's bedroom was on and his curtain was drawn to the side like it almost always was. I opened my window, ignoring the cold air hitting my face as soon as the soft music hit my ears. I recognized the tune as it began; Set Fire To The Rain by Adele. I smiled and crawled through the small windowsill, keeping my hands anchored to the walls while I sat down in the sill and watched. He seemed the type to like Adele (only I knew he did because it was she was a favorite of his to dance to). Fiery, passionate, and feeling.

I wasn't listening to the words, but when they started, the dancer dropped low onto one knee, bringing his hands up and arching them slowly and gracefully into a dome over his head. He brought one of his hands to his chest interpretively and made a motion as if holding his heart, bringing it over his head again and standing up along with it slowly.

I watched several more graceful movements come in rapid succession in the pre-chorus, feeling as if I were in a trance, or watching a movie that I couldn't look away from. The chorus hit like a drum almost exactly on time with the light turning bright yellow and illuminating the room. The boy hoisted himself onto the bed and wrapped his hand around the bar of the headboard, swinging around with one leg precisely pointed outward. He used the bar to swing himself back off of the bed and do another small spin on his own before swinging his arms out wide and throwing his head back.

I let my grip on the wall loosen and gasped as I rocked forward. I quickly caught myself again and swung one of my legs inside the windowsill to help keep me from falling.

The dancer boy had his eyes closed when I looked back, standing in one position before opening his eyes and putting his arm out in front of him. He did a kick up to the tips of his fingers and spun around, gasping at he tripped over something on the floor (I couldn't see it from the angle). I furrowed my eyebrows as the dancer looked back up, took a deep breath in, and dropped to the floor on both of his knees gracefully. The trip didn't seem to phase him as he made a motion with his arms like he was playing a harp. He reached backward and tipped his head back, his arms going behind him so his fingertips just grazed the floor before he stood up. 

The song came to an end and I watched on as the dancer boy wiped his hair out of his eyes, smiling and laughing. He walked to his bed with a different swagger now, as if he was floating, swaying absentmindedly from side to side. The music stopped and he flopped down onto his bed. I retreated from the windowsill, the sound of his laugh leaving a ringing in my ears. My heart was beating quickly as I closed my window and put my hand against my chest as if to try and calm the incessant drumming. 

I backed up to my bed and laid down, resting my head on my pillow. I closed my eyes and kept my hand on my chest, taking a deep breath in through my mouth before letting it out again. I let myself calm down and opened my eyes again, staring up at the ceiling. My parents would probably be home soon, so I reached over to close my window, only now realizing that there were a set of curious eyes looking back. The dancer and I locked eyes and my heart started racing again. I slammed my window shut and pulled the string on my curtain, letting it fall over the sill as I sat back down on my bed. I was still staring at the curtain in shock, trying to get myself calm like I had before.

I heard a car pull up in the driveway just in time, so I laid down and closed my eyes, pretending like I had been asleep. I didn't like being wide awake and having my eyes closed, so I opened them again and just looked at the door to my bedroom. I heard the front door open and close and my parents speaking, then what I assumed was my father coming up the stairs. I pulled the blanket up over myself and turned onto my other side so I was facing the wall, closing my eyes- this time, to sleep.


End file.
